


A Kiss With A Fist

by TheSingingCynic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: FrUK, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSingingCynic/pseuds/TheSingingCynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America has a plan to soothe the tension amongst the allies. Enjoy! </p><p>-Also, becuase it is countries, I hope I haven't offended anyone, I tried to stick to the Hetalia character stereotypes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“C’MON Canada! This will definitely work man! Don’t you want some peace in our board meetings?”

“…Uh, well…of course….But…”

“Exactly! So come on buddy help me out here just keep England put ok!”

“Uuuhhhhh…” America enthusiastically thrust Canada in to a boardroom with England patiently reading on the window dock and without looking up spoke to the new presence.

“Really America, what took you so long.”

“Eng—Urm no, it’s me Canada.” England tilted his head up, closing the book on his thumb to keep the page. 

“Oh, Canada. Forgive me. You haven’t seen that tosser have you? He requested an urgent meeting almost an hour ago and so far we’re the only one’s that have shown up.” He had licked his finger and returned to his reading. “I’m growing quite impatient, I mean how important could it be?”

“Wellll….” Canada still hadn’t moved from when he entered, standing stiffly, eyes darting unable to settle.

England eyed Canada again, he was definitely more uneasy then usual. He slammed the book closed and before Canada could exhale England had pushed his back in to the door, an arm under his chin pressing on his windpipe.

“What’s going on? What has the bastard put you up to? Occupation? Treason? Mutiny?!”

Canada’s eyes were wide; he was rigid and trying to catch his breath. 

England sighed realising a different approach was needed and released his throat, his arm resting on the door frame, the other hand softly gracing Canada’s cheek. “I’m sorry Canada, I didn’t mean to yell at you.” He turned his chin to make Canada look him in the eyes. “We’re allies little one, so I need you to tell me. Are we in danger?” His voice was soothing, easing information out of the possible traitor.

Canada opened his mouth to speak but as if on cue the door swung open with the force of only an American, England toppled to the floor Canada landing on top. A floral and sweet smell had floated in to the room accompanied by red pantaloons passing by England’s peripheral vision. 

England grunted vaguely aware the pressure on his chest was relieving. He raised his head to see Canada being dragged out the door by his feet. America effortless pulling the younger man away grinning, while Canada was mouthing; ‘Sorry.’ 

America slammed the door shut before England could jump to attention. 

“It is a ruse! God damn it America, what are you planning! I order you to come back here!” He leapt to the door, it was locked, he pummelled his fists and spat a line of colourful verbal abuse that could have stripped the paint right off the wood. He rested his head against the door momentarily calming himself but the whiff of iris and lilies made him whip around; “France?”

“Oui.” France had stolen England’s previous spot, sunlight streaming in making his golden strands gleam when France turned to answer. He was languidly spread out in the window box inspecting the literature. 

“What the hell is going on?”

“As if I would tell a English man.” He spat.

His fists clenched. “This isn’t the time France, I think the Yanks have gone rogue, we’re going to have to put our feelings aside and work together to get out of this.”

“Pffttt.” 

“What do you mean “Pffft” this isn’t the time for your indifference France!” He marched over and snatched the book from his hand and thumped it round the back of his head.

“Merde.” He rubbed the tender spot wincing. “We are under no threat, untangle your frilly knickers.” 

“Then why are we locked in?” England turned to access the room. A simple boardroom; desks, chairs, a white board, wide floor length windows and strangely no curtains. ‘Why would the curtains be removed?’ England pondered when he watched a sheet of paper slip under the door.

“Dear England and France,

Hear this letter as the communal voice of the Allies. But from me; America. Read it in my voice. Ok? GREAT! So like, we have decided the feud between you guys is interfering with our work and so you need to sort it out or whatever. So yeah, you’re gonna be locked in here till you’re friends! Neat plan right?? Don’t bother trying to escape, it’s impossible! HAHA! Russia is at the door man! Just focus on patching you guys up so we can all be happy. Sweet! Oh yeah because we don’t know how long this is going to take I told China to pack you food in the window ledge. Enjoy!”

The key to the food nest tumbled in to England’s hand; “Oh God, it’s even worse than I imagined….couldn’t they just try to overthrow us instead?” His fingers pinched his eyebrows, narrow eyes burning through the letter again. “He’s signed it as ‘The Hero of all Nations.’ God give me strength.”

France, seemingly unfazed hadn’t moved from his sunspot. “No wonder he is so blind to the situation when he has his head that far up his own colon.” 

England snickered, then internally scolded himself for doing so.

“Tsk. We’re in a moronic rat maze with no motivation, no finish line reward.” Egnland was walking over to the window ledge that France was still sprawled on top of. “That burger eating crack pot, what does he think this could possibly achieve.”

“Ah Mon’Amie! Has all that rain washed away all your romanticism? He want’s us to embrace after all these long hard years of fighting and…” England had abruptly halted the mocking by pulling France by his purple cloak and tossed him aside.

France slid to the floor, head first, his legs still hanging limply on top of the seat. England brushed them off with a tut and felt under the rim for a keyhole. He twisted the bronze key and pulled the chest lid open, it was incredibly deep and filled with whiskey and wine and bread and wrapped cheese. This threw the Frenchman in to motion.

“WINE! Oh oui oui oui oui oui!” He pulled two bottles out to inspect them; “Eh, it is not French, but it is still wine no?” He beamed at the slender bottles before they disappeared back in to the chest. “What are you doing?”

“We won’t be needing it.”

“…But why is the wine gone?”

“Because one can not properly function under the influence of alcohol. Help me find a way out and the contents of the chest is yours.” 

“Maybe you light weight English can not hold your own, but the French, this is our caffeine.”

“I said no.” England tucked the key in one of his jacket pockets.

“You can’t manipulate me Eyebrows, I know all your tricks by now. Your charm will not seduce me in to your plays.” France pouted and hopped back up on the window ledge. He sighed and folded his hands behind his head turning his face to the sun like a contented cat. 

England let his shoulders slump forward. “Useless as always France. Typical.” France grinned at the sunlight letting the afternoon warm his body giving his skin a happy glow.

England watched in disbelief before trying to ignore the lost cause and focus on a plan. “Right, tactics. Possible exits; window, floor, ceiling and door.” His fist pumped the palm of his hand. “I am English, nothing so juvenile can hold me.” He rushed to the window to access the height of the fall and landing. “Twelve floors up. Concrete below. Sheesh…. I kept telling them we needed a moat for exactly this reason.” He stepped back in contemplation; ‘Ok, window is more or less unfavourable unless I want to end up looking like Beardy over there.’ He eyed the stretched out man, cloak swept aside and shirt rising up displaying a soft line of flesh almost glinting in the sunlight. France peaked one of his eyes open watching the dirty blonde haired man staring at him with furrowed brows in deep concentration. He playfully stretched a little further to raise his shirt higher, he watched the eyebrows knit closer together before snapping back to the well practiced neutral.

England cleared his throat and then twisted his attention back to the door. ‘Might as well give it a shot.’ He tried the handle once again. Nothing. He heard a gloating scoff behind him. England’s cheeks flared. He rolled up his racing green uniform sleeves. He dragged the desk a few meters in front of the door. He readied him self, all his strength placed in his arms and his legs. “FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY!” He ran with all he had, forcing the hardwood desk in to the door. The door creaked in on it’s self, splintering on the impact but remaining mostly intact. England retracted the desk and repeated the action, the door whining in protest. 

France had since sat up and was watching intently. England was sweating now his breathing ragged and hard but full of determination, he swept a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. But with a final blow the door buckled and a hole tore through the wood. England threw the desk to the side to get to the door, with his bare hands he ripped away planks of wood ribboning them to the floor. His hand kept bumping against something cool and hard on the other side, but he kept shredding till a man size whole gaped the frame. 

“What the hell is that?”

“Looks like your dead end.”

“Shut it beardy.”

England leant through the hole testing the weight of the grey object. Completely solid, immoveable. He pushed all his weight in to it but it didn’t budge inch. 

“What the hell is this? How have they even done this? It’s just inconceivable.”

“I can conceive it.”

England banged his fists against the metal. “Must you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Cut me down at every possible turn. Have you ever, ever! Helped a situation?”

France paused thoughtfully. “You know what would help this situation?”

England sighed.

“WINE!”

“Wanker…” 

France threw his arms up in the air and then crossed them with a huff. “Now what are you doing.”

“I’m not giving up that easily Whiskers.” England had climbed up on the desk, balanced another two chairs balanced on top with a third in his hand. He clambered up to reach the celling. “The ceiling should be thin enough for me to break through and pull myself up, there’s no way they could have continued this kind of stunt on any more room.” He began thrashing at the celling with the chair legs, plaster shrouding his efforts in a white cloud. England paused and tied the handkerchief around his mouth and continued. Blasting the ceiling until a hole formed.

 

“No…no. Nononono!” He battered the ceiling, a dark silver circle was being uncovered, the thunderous hits of the wooden chair began echoing off cold mental instead of plaster. “This is impossible!” He stared in disbelief at the same material blocking the door way was now above him. “No it cant be…” He leapt off the table and swung the chair at the floor, and immense portrayal of strength that France hadn’t seen for a while was now attacking the polished wood flooring, it began blistering. A gap appeared to which England dropped to his knees and began ripping up the floorboards. “NO!” The same metal was beneath them. England fell back on his haunches. His sleeves rolled up, sweating and panting. He tore off his makeshift mask and dragged a hand through his blonde hair. 

With the only thing left to do. He ran with the chair and smashed it in to the end window. France was standing now. "England. Hey, stop. What are you doing?" 

England stopped but didn’t turn to face the man behind him, the wind whipping his hair and jacket melodiously. 

"I'm going to jump." 

France sneered; "You're stupid but not that stupid." England held on to the wall and swung the chair releasing it and shattering the window of the room to the right of them. "You can't make that jump!" England stared hard at France then back at the horizontal leap. "Fine good riddance! Au revoir." He got in to position. "ENGLAND! NO!" France grabbed England’s collar pulling him from the air and rolling them back safely in to the room. France landed on top, England trapped in between his legs. "Are you crazy?! You stupid English!" He started slapping England. "You. We're. Going. To. Die. You. Moronic. Tea. Huffer!" 

England grabbed the slapping hands and stared up at France, fiery green and cooling blue. "...Take off your clothes."


	2. Chapter 2

"Quoiiii?" 

"Strip. Now." England had tried to sit up as much as he could still under France's thighs, he shrugged off his military jacket and was loosening his tie. France still hadn't moved. Mouth open but silent for once. “Take off your clothes you useless frog. Don’t you get it, I was right France. There’s no way they could have blocked up anymore rooms in this building and that’s why they’ve removed the curtains, they would have been long enough to climb down but, I can tie our clothes together and it should be long enough for me to abseil down the room below us. I'll break the window and find away to get you out. Come on, quick as you like." 

"…Non." 

"What do you mean ‘non’?” 

“It means no.” 

“I KNOW WHAT IT MEANS. And, it wasn't a request.” England thrust his hips up momentarily destabilising France and was able to push him to the floor and climb on top. 

"NON!" 

“YES!” England started pulling off the purple cloak. France wasn't making it easy his limbs wailing in every which way, it was like trying to stay on a bucking bull. But England, with a great amount of effort managed to pull the whole thing over his head leaving just a white shirt and red trousers. 

France stopped moving, hair dishevelled in the tug of war. Blue orbs looking up intensely. "Would you really rather risk your life than be in the same room as me?" 

“Well obviously, yes, of course.” He undid the top button of France’s shirt.

France blinked up at him. Then moved England’s hands from his shirt and silently started unbuttoning himself. 

England hesitated, the air had changed. It was uncomfortable he moved off of his lap. “France?” France didn’t answer, he was unbuttoning the last few, the breeze blowing it open revealing a slender toned chest finished with a dusting of blonde hair. He worked the cuff buttons before shrugging the shirt off completely, it fluttered to the floor. He stared at England before toeing off his boots. “France, don’t play damsel here. I know you want me gone just as much.” England tried to inject some of their usual playfulness back in.

France snapped. He threw one of his boots at England. “You’re as blind as Hero America out there.”

“Excuse me?” Barely dodging the leather gunfire. Eyeing the second boot clasped dangerously in France’s hand.

“We are jeopardising our own allies because we can’t get along. And you’re not even willing to put your pride away for their sake. You’re so stubborn! This is why you’re alone England.”

England lost his breath from both the verbal punch and the physical boot that caught him in the stomach, but his defences quickly kicked back in. “I’m stubborn? Hah! Coming from you. That’s rich. Besides, my stubbornness keeps us safe, I actively try to protect our nations. What do you do? You ponce around reciting beauty and love. How is that going to defend us?!”

“You see! You’re so emotionally repressed! You have no idea what others are feeling. You can’t empathise or is it that you just don’t care? You’ve rejected feeling anything for so long, can you even feel anymore?”

“How dare you!”

“Look at the way you treat America! You raised him and now you treat him as your enemy! Hell you can’t even tell Canada and America apart now! Do you even care what that does to Canada?!”

England didn’t respond.

“You used to be Great. Now you’re just cruel. You’re cold. Everyone resents you.”

“I cant be the fun parent like you France! It’s so easy for you! I have to keep a firm hand. They need to stay their distance. I can’t have them close again. Not again…. We are not the same! I don’t live in an idealistic, romanticised French novel! I can’t afford to show emotion, to show weakness!”

France spat at England. “EMOTION IS NOT A WEAKNESS!”

“IT IS WHEN…”

“When what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me!”

France threw a punch. It landed square on the jaw of unsuspecting England. The roaring was over, they had stepped in to the ring, each determined to bring the other one down with a swing. England was strong but France was incredibly agile, France knew that England would take him out if he got the right punch in but if he could dance around him and get in his own precise attacks he could get him down. They were evenly matched, each knew the others moves, it was like getting back on a bike after years of never riding one, familiar almost pleasant. But they still sank attack after attack, both of them barely able to stand. They finally slid to the floor.

They sat panting. Bruised, shirtless and sweating. They wiped away blood from various and multiple offending wounds.

“I need a drink.” England’s voice hoarse from the fighting grabbed his jacket, rummaged for the key and tossed it to France. France stared at the small key in his hand and back up at the shirtless man, who was slipping back in to his green jacket, his pale front still very visible. France sighed and opened the window ledge pulling out a few bottles of wine. He threw one back to England and opened one for himself. 

They drank in silence. 

“I apologise.” It had been a good twenty minutes of drinking down what was still unsaid until England made his peace. France looked up; England’s eyes were downcast. “You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

France raised his eyebrows; he truly hadn’t been expecting an apology. He walked over to the man on his knees and offered a hand. England clenched his fists, whether it was the liquid courage or France’s words had actually resonated with him he hesitantly accepted it and France helped him up but didn’t let go of his hand, instead he cupped it with the other and gazed in to England’s still slightly defiant eyes. 

“You’re not alone. I never should have said that.”

England tried to pull away. Avoiding eye contact. 

“I know you England. I know who you really are. So even if you push everyone else away, I’ll still be here. You can’t get rid of me.” His voice was so soft and sombre England dared to look the man in the eyes. A look they hadn’t shared in years. An honest look, actually reading each other instead of talking at each other.

France’s mouth twitched in a repressed smile. “I would even let you cook for me.”

And with that England snorted. “You’re such an arsehole.” He beamed up at the taller man and brushed a stray strand of hair from France’s eyes. Immediately recoiling his hand in horror from his actions. “Oh god, sorry. Don’t know why I just did that.” England pulled away. “Urm more wine? Maybe you could whip us up a snack?”

France was grinning like an idiot and cracked his knuckles. “Stand back Vanilla, let a master show you how culinary feats are tackled!”

England giggled and laid out pillows from the chest so they could sit on the floor comfortably. 

“Tada!” 

“….Cheese on biscuits.” 

“Shut up, there isn’t anything else. And it is still better than anything you bland fish and chip eaters could have come up with.”

England was about to protest but France got in first.

“No shut up and pay attention.” England’s lips tightened but he let the man continue. France scooted in front of him. “Close your eyes.”

England studied France momentarily before sighing and doing as he was told. “Open your mouth.” France broke some of the cheese and biscuit in to a suitable size and placed it in England’s mouth. “Now chew but don’t swallow.” France could see England roll his eyes even when they’re closed, when he decided it was enough chewing he said; “Open, but don’t swallow, taste, let the flavours blend.” England hesitated. “Oh for…You English and your etiquettes, there is no need for modesty here, there is no table for manners. Open.” England knitted his eyebrows together but did as he was asked. Almost choking at the surprise of France pouring a little wine in to his mouth. The sweet alcohol mingled with the richness of the cheese and the tart of the cracker. It changed the balance of flavours implausibly; they were so complementary in balance, a complete different effect to eating swallowing and then drinking. He savoured the experience before finally swallowing.

England opened his eyes; “That is magnificent!”

France laughed happily; “Ah, you see!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a short chapter, more on the way soon! Let me know what you think!

They had finished their meal and a good portion of the alcohol. They sat, legs stretched parallel to each other in front of the smashed window watching the sunset, the slight breeze still lazily dancing strands of hair.

“How long do you think they’re going to keep us here?” England wondered aloud, more to himself than anything.

“Tomorrow I’m sure, we can return back to reality and go back to hating each other again.” Murmured France.

England turned the sentence over in his mind, the wine subduing his filter. “I quite like this reality.” 

France turned to England who was still lost in the beauty of outside, France smiled and placed his hand over England’s and turned back to watch the pink and orange sky darken. The sun’s light all but diminished. England wasn’t sure why but the sight saddened him.


	4. Chapter 4

France stirred, his eyes remained closed but something had woken him to half consciousness. He felt good, really good. ‘Why?’ He tried listening to his body to figure out where the source of pleasure was coming from. He realised it was his feet, he could feel gentle, sensual caresses to his feet. So soft and ghosting the motions he wasn’t even sure it was real, but he started moving his own feet mirroring the actions he was feeling. He realise it was someone else’s feet doing the caresses and it was sending soft waves of pleasure through his whole body. He tried to replicate the gestures. He thought he heard a tender moan behind him. 

He tried focusing on the thought to keep him from drifting back in to a deep sleep. He tried to register what else he was feeling. A warm, solid body was close behind him, not touching but he could feel another persons heat and an arm that wasn't his own wrapped around his waist. The new hand had as if reacting to France’s wakening found his own hand and pulled it in to France's chest. Fingers interlocking and a thumb drawing small circles on to his own. France was fighting to stay awake but these chaste, delicate actions were making it hard. 

He was drifting on the verge of waking and sleeping till he felt the weight shift behind him, the spooning had become closer he could feel the body pressed flat up against him, a nose nuzzling the back of his neck and his hair. And something else nuzzling his boxers. He felt a gentle teasing prod on his lower back. And then again. The man was rubbing his erection in the cleft of France's ass. France arched his neck to get more contact with this dream man who's face was now buried in the crook of his neck he could feel the hot breath poor out of him in a half sigh half moan. Which suddenly snapped France's eyes open. Everything flooded back, where he was, whom he was with. England! England was humping him?! France froze. ‘Is England awake?’ He looked at the hand holding his against his heart but dared not turn around. He listened to the steady breathing behind him. ‘Of course he's asleep he would never do something like this awake. I wonder who he's dreaming about.’ As if to answer his thought England let out a almost inaudible moan; "…France..." France let out a little gasp. Something welled inside him. A tear ran down on to his pillow. He smiled and closed his eyes and started meeting England's movements, two layers of cotton and silk keeping their skin from touching but it was enough for France feeling England loose himself lazily dry humping him. 

France couldn’t help it; he couldn’t contain a hushed whimper of his name. But suddenly all movement stopped, France froze. He heard a sharp intake of breath and felt the man go rigid. He'd woken up. England saw his own covered dick pressed in between the cheeks of the man asleep next to him. "Oh god." England whispered. France felt England tremble in his hands but he didn't know what to do, he kept facing the other way pretending to be asleep, but eyes wide open listening to every little movement. He felt the heat retreating from him and the arm cautiously trying to remove it's self, his eyes watched the hand leave his alone. England was now sitting up a few feet away from France his legs pulled in to his chest. France thought he heard a small sob, and a shaky breath. But before he gained enough courage to turn and face him, England stood up and walked over to the food chest. France stayed lying down but turned his head to watch him as England squared up to the chest. The morning sun illuminating England's face and the silent tears that were falling. England pulled a bottle from the chest. France sat up now, making his presence known. 

"England?" England rotated making sure France would not be able to see his face.  
He cleared his voice making sure he sounded normal as possible. "Oh, good morning France. There's no tea...so, do as the Romans do.” He uncorked another bottle of wine and took a healthy swig while wiping the tears from his face as discretely as he could. England turned smiling, "Care for a bottle?" 

France's face was hard; he studied that fake smile he’d seen too often before finally declining. England pulled a still intact chair up to the window. He sat silently watching the dawn, expressionless. France observed him before finally getting up, his erection causing a bit of discomfort. He walked over to England and stood in front of him the new sun giving him a golden out line. His fists clenched the man’s jacket and pulled him out of the seat standing. "And you call me a coward!" 

"What are you doing you cheese eating surrender monkey." England put on his best angry face, but there was no conviction. It was almost like a plea, a beg for mercy. For France not to do this. But France ignored it, his hand reached for England's chin, tilting it to force him to look at him, his other hand cupping the side of his face, thumb tracing a caress underneath an eye to wipe away the invisible tears that threatened to fall. They stayed like that for a few seconds just staring. Before France leant in with a closed kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More coming soon!


	5. Chapter 5

England tried to push him away, but France pulled him back in, pressing England flat against him, their erections brushing against each other, England let out a whimper, which gave France the access to deepen the kiss. His tongue exploring a hesitant one, France traced England’s lower lip and took a teasing bite. England gasped and involuntary ground his hips harder in to France’s groin. France whined and locked his hands in the wild dirty blonde hair, he pulled back breathing heavily, he licked his own lips tasting England’s sweet residue.

“France, please don’t.” 

France’s eyebrows knotted in hurt before ignoring it, he forcibly drove back in placing gentle kisses along the jaw bone and tilting the shorter man’s head to follow a trail down his neck, rotating his hips in to the other. England’s hands had come up to tangle themselves in France’s hair, wrapped up tightly like holding on to a lifeline. Before England forced the man off him.

“France I said no!”

France tumbled to the floor looking up at England with a mixture of hurt and anger. England was standing over him fists clenched at his side, knuckles going white and tears threatening his eyes. 

France couldn’t stand the sight, he snapped. “What is it you want from me England?! You almost kill yourself trying to get away from me, then you moan my name in your sleep. What am I supposed to do? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!”

France’s anger was so raw and overwhelming that tears began to fall. England clamped his eyes shut to stop the same happening to him. 

“I want you to stay away from me.” England took a shaky breath to compose himself, he suppressed his imminent cries and stared France hard in the eyes. “We will keep up appearances for the sake of our allies; a purely professional relationship with no outside socialisation. Is that understood.” 

England turned away from the man, not waiting for a reply. But France charged. He tackled the man face first in to the wall. He held England’s arms behind his back and leant all his weight in to England trapping him. 

“Don’t you lie to me! I know that’s not what you want!” England managed to turn his face away from the wall so France could see; he bared his teeth. “Tell me the truth England!”

England growled. A concoction of emotions he couldn’t identify swirling in upheaval, threatening to overfill. He knew if he answered he wouldn’t be able to stop the tsunami. But France’s scent was drowning his senses and the soft skin pressed against his own was like running silk, he couldn’t repress it any longer. “FINE! You want the truth?! Don’t you dare think for a second I don’t know what you’re doing! You’re unfaithful and cruel! You say I’m cold but you use people for primitive urges. And I can’t handle that! If anything happens between us I wont be able to separate the feelings. And you’ll leave.”

France’s grip lessened, England’s words wounding him. “What are you talking about…I’m not going to leave you.”

“Yes you are you fucking liar!” England was struggling in his grip, but France refusing to subside. He was going to make England finally see some humanity.

“Yes you are! Everyone always does! You. America. Everyone I have ever card for leaves me and resents me as the cause. If I don’t harden my heart everyone will see the truth. They will see how small I am…I will be left alone. It is better be alone by choice damn it!” England began choking on his words but was unable to stop, torrents of tears drowning his cheeks. “Do you know how much it kills me to pretend I can’t tell Canada and America apart! I…” 

France’s chest tightened, he always used to laugh at the idea of England breaking before him, but it’s never what he wanted. Seeing him like this. It was heart breaking. “But, you’re one of the Greats! You are anything but small. And I told you…” He wiped away the tears still falling from emerald eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Stop saying that you bastard!” England tried to shake France’s hand away but the motion just shifted France’s erection perfectly between England’s arse cheeks. France felt the wanton tremble up England’s body but England disguised his whine as a ferocious roar. “ I am not going to let you fuck me and then watch you move on to Spain once as soon as we have been release. I know I’m nothing but a pastime to you but I still have my pride!”

“How many have suffered from your stubbornness and pride. Look at you. Look at what it’s done to you. I’m not going anywhere.” He soothed England’s face.

“I hate you!”

France eased off of England, giving him enough room to turn and face him. He cupped England’s head. “I love you too, mon cher.” 

England looked up in to France’s soft eyes, brimming with unusual earnest and honesty and tenderness. Whereas France watched the internal battle raging behind green eyes, before finally; England wrapped himself in to France’s chest. 

France held the man tight, comforting him through the spasms, no wonder he is so good on the battlefield, when he is in a constant state of war. It was so painful to watch such a great man weakened by his own ideologies of his own reputation. France realised none of the other countries have seen this side of England. This fragile man desperate for companionship yet too proud to reach out. Stays his distance to avoid hurting again. Why had he never noticed this before? Even now he could feel part of England trying to push him away. How could he let himself get so isolated? Did England really think he hated him from the years of what he thought was consensual playful insults? 

“France?” England mumbled in to France’s neck.

“Yes, my young master?” 

“I...”

His sentence was cut short from a terrifying scraping noise and then the bang of the door flying open. America stormed in took one look at the friendly hug, oblivious to its true intimacy and fist pumped the air. “IT WORKED! AAHHAAA YEAH!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got one more chapter brewing, let me know what you think :D


	6. Chapter 6

After England had released his full wrath on America he had slipped away. France watched him leave. It was a few hours before France could get away from America’s celebratory party. One can only listen to how he put the genius plan together so many times. France considered going home. Maybe England would be there waiting for him. He left out a sad laugh, of course he wont be there, the stubborn idiot. France ringed his hands through his hair, letting the cool air clear his mind. “If I don’t see him tonight I know he will pretend nothing ever happened in that room.” France contemplated on whether that would actually be easier, to just go back to ‘frenemies.’ ‘Of course it would. But that’s not what I want. It’s not what he really wants as much as he tries to convince himself other wise. I wont let him push me away. ’ And with that his determination marched him to England’s home.

Knuckles clenched ready to rap on the door and demand entry, but a slither of light caught his shoes, the door was ajar, England had left his front door open, England was right, his emotions do cloud his judgement. Something stopped France from announcing himself. Instead he entered the hallway and closed the door behind him locking it with a soft click. There was a loud crash, France immediately sprang in to action running towards the danger with out thinking about that he was doing. Something instinctual. But as he turned a corner to the source he stopped, he backed up against the wall. England was alone and in no danger. But this room France had never seen before. Like a room of achievement from a proud parent, shelves of photos of America and Canada and France. All photos of their achievements and victories. But littering the wall were fist shaped holes. The bang came again, France watched England plough his hand through the wall. France wanted to stop him but at the same time, there was something about seeing the usually so composed England releasing his emotions. The strength and power of the attack sent vibrations through the very structure of the building, shaking down one of the hanging frames. France saw it shatter as it hit the hard floor. England paused, the brick dust settling around him. He bent to pick up the frame, sweeping aside the ragged glass from obscuring the photo. It was England and France with young Canada riding on France’s shoulders and England holding young America above his head gleefully doing the eagle. England smiled tenderly lost in that memory; his fingers traced the past before hanging it delicately back on the wall. His anger seemed to have subsided and was now taking in the chaos and mess he has caused to his room.

France made his entrance; he stepped in to the light of the room. The intrusion made England whip round defensively.

“France?”

France didn’t reply he just stared at the broken photo on the wall then back to England. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t believe I would show up?”

England downcast his eyes.

France moved closer, crossing the room. France inhaled a steady breath then reached out cautiously unsure of England’s reaction and put his hand on the back of England’s neck. “I’m sorry you can’t trust me. But I’ll prove it to you eventually.”

But England just gave a weak smile. France could see how hard he was trying; he tugged gently at the hair making England meet his gaze. 

“Will you let me start tonight?”

England didn’t reply so France stepped away, England’s arms retreated to holding himself. France watched him; ‘He needs to come to me, I can’t make him feel like I’m forcing it, he needs to make this decision.’ 

Keeping eye contact France began to undress, his clothes pooling at his feet. England stood stiff in military stance, unsure how to proceed. He wanted to reach out and let his fingers explore the expanse of France’s chest, he wanted to tear off the last items of clothing, he wanted to stop over thinking and loose himself but the voices were still so loud. Instead he just watched, observing and recording every detail presented to him. The lean figure with almost white downy hair that gradually darkened down his stomach to his masculinity. The curve of the muscles always obscured by that stupid purple throw. The solid stance of confidence. The gentle heave of each breath. 

Once completely naked he waited for England to meet his gaze. England’s eyes were dark and unreadable but France was in too deep now so he walked over to the rug, got on his hands and knees, leaning all the way forward and pressing his head in to the carpet. Legs apart and arse on display. His head was turned to face England’s bulbous, blown out pupils. It looked like he had stopped breathing. He watched England’s eyes roam his body. France was turned on immeasurably; England seeing him in such a position, so vulgar and submissive was arousing to say the least, his growing hard on presented and undisguised. He reached a hand between his legs and held his member, letting his cupped palm slide leisurely up and down the length all the while eyes hard on England. England was transfixed. Watching the exercised movements of the hand, and the minute reaction of a twitching pink hole. 

A practiced wrist flick made France’s eyes flutter shut, but when they reopened England was gone. France halted. Immobilised by the possibility of pushing England away. Until he felt a graceful stroke up his spine, a slow line drawn up from his tailbone towards his neck as England was circling round him. England stopped at France’s head and waited for him to raise it to look at him. When he did England offered him a hand. France bowed his head, he had failed, he had offered himself up and England was refusing him. He took the hand refusing to look at England, face red with shame and hurt; England eased him up off the floor. He tried to retract his hand, but England held on firmly and interlocked his fingers. 

England began walking with a naked France in tow. He led him silently up a flight of stairs and down a hallway. Finally stopping at a door he pulled France in to his bedroom, as soon as the door closed behind them England was on him. England pushed flush against him in a hard kiss, raising the interlocked hand above France’s head, pinning it to the wall England’s nails dragged down the sensitive skin of the forearm and down the bicep, down the side of his chest and coming to sop at his hip, giving it a firm squeeze. 

“Thank you.”

France didn’t have time to reply before their lips reconnected. There was no resistance now, they melted effortlessly in to each other, there was no struggle for power, no awkwardness, they just moved seamlessly and complimentarily with one another. An intricate dance of tongues expressing their desires, their bodies crashing in together needing more friction but not wanting to this slow build up to end. They were rubbing up and down each other shamelessly, lust taking control. England still in way to many clothes. France pushed off the door, and tore the fabric away, all with out separating their lips. They waltzed around the room, clothing flying off, France relishing the sensation the curve of England’s back and being able to pull it in to him. To be allowed to snake his hands underneath the cotton and feel the hard muscles of the stomach underneath. 

They landed on the bed, England on top and France clinging to him. 

France looked in dark calm pupils. “I agree though, we should keep up appearances for the allies.”

England pondered for a second then smirked. “You mean things like; ‘I’m going to shove your rotten garlic so far up your arse I’ll taste it on your breath?”

France laughed, “Something like that, mon amour.” 

“Hmmm, I suppose you’re right. After all we wouldn’t want America getting an ego thinking his planned worked.” 

France close his eyes in a fit of giggles, when he opened them England’s eyes had turned licentious, boring down in an almost uncomfortable clarity and determination, his breathing was deep and forced. “I want you to fuck me.”

France blinked his surprise. This was not what he expected. But a primal growl escaped him and he pounced up at the man flipping him on his back. His hands underneath the small of England’s back giving him the right height to rub his dick along the other’s. They both let out an elongated pant at France’s slow drags up and down their lengths, France could have cum from England’s expression alone but then England’s hand sashayed down to circle both their cocks giving them more pressure. France hissed, he ground in to the hand his dick sliding up England’s while the hand pumped them both, coating them with a mix of their pre cum, a thumb giving a quick swipe in the slits. France leant in to praise England with his tongue.

“Do you have any…”

“Bottom draw.” Interrupted England then resumed the kiss.

France felt the bottom draw next to the bed and pulled it open trying to find it though touch alone. Grunting in annoyance when he had to retract his lips to look at what he was doing. He peered off the bed into the draw, England distracting him by sucking on his neck. The lube was in the cornered in the draw by a bundle of s&m gear. “England!” France was almost in shocked hysterics. England looked down to see what was so funny. 

“Oh, yeah.”

“I had no idea!” France beamed at the man, eyes glinting with dark possibilities “Although I probably should have guessed. I mean you are…” 

England stopped him; “But not tonight. Tonight I don’t want any gimmicks, or alcohol, or terms and conditions. I want this. Just this.”

France smiled warmly down at him. Then leant in for a kiss on the neck, that fed in to a bleeding bite. England writhed below him wanting more. “I agree, but...” His lips moved up to England’s ear, licking the shell before biting down. “Next time. I want to be your little bitch.” England shivered and closed his eyes, his erection growing painful now. France breathed on to the blistering skin; “My young master.”

“Uhhhh!” England didn’t know how France was doing it but it was making his limbs squirm under France’s words, he was too close to cumming. “Fuck me. Now.”

“Don’t you want me to open you up first?” 

“I gave you an order you stupid frog.”

France smirked and emptied a healthy amount of lube to his palm, giving his dick a couple of coating pulls and then dribbling a blob across England’s hole for good measure. He watched England’s arse contracting and dilating at the sensation swallowing some of the lube already.

France lined up, his twitching erection probing the first ring of muscles; he knotted one of his hands in between England’s reassuringly.

“Jesus France, what have you got down there, a bloody baguette?! Fuck!” 

“Where is all this English composure eh? Keep calm and carry on my arse. Suck it up English pansy.” Once he was all the way in France crawled up England’s body resting his weight on his forearms either side of England’s head. England’s legs were wrapped around his waist and his hands were stoking France’s shoulders but his bottom lip was caught between his teeth to hold in the scream from the painful intrusion. France pulled the lip free and kissed away the blood, England whimpering slightly. They stayed like that, letting their bodies adjust. Enjoying the sensation of a tight but perfect fit, gazing in to adoring eyes. England’s hands glided up to France’s hair, he played with rolling strands, letting them run between his fingers.

“Despite what I’ve said. I’ve always loved your hair.” He buried his fingers in deeper, pulling France in to a heady kiss. France shifted and they both moaned into each other. He pulled out slowly, and eased back in. England hissed and arched his back his weeping dick grinding between their stomachs.

France repeated the action, enjoying the slow action and the soft responses from the man below him. He sucked and lightly bit every inch of skin he could reach while his dick was gradually sliding in and out. 

But the teasing gentle approach was driving England insane, when France pulled out to the tip; England locked his legs tighter around his waist and forced France back in. The speed and power made England scream and England’s scream finally demolished France’s control; he started pounding in to England. England’s hands shot up to brace him self on the headboard. The loud bangs of the queen size bed adding a beat to England’s filthy moans. It was the most mesmerising thing France had every heard and to see England so unreserved and free it was almost too much.

He got to his knees and grabbed England’s left leg raising it up, on hand holding the thigh back the other gave some needed attention to England’s dick. He could get so much deeper in this position and it was making both of their heads spin. He stroked along the shaft with the same rhythm as his thrusts. France almost laughed at England trying to simultaneously fuck his hand and grind down on his dick. When France brushed against something that curled England’s toes and stiffened his muscles.

England’s vision streamed white for a second. “FRANCE! Uhhhhhh” His whole body vibrated the sensations traveled up France’s dick, France moaned too and thrust harder trying to hit the same spot. “OH GOD! France do that again!” 

France rotated his hips with each thrust trying to find the same bundle of nerves and it didn’t take long till England was screaming again.

“There right there! Fuck!” 

France pressed in to him, drilling in to that spot repeatedly, both now coated in sweat. England was screaming nonsense that just became “France” over and over. 

England was seeing white again, he was losing his sense of self, he couldn’t tell what surface he was on let alone whom he was with. It was wonderful but it wasn’t what he wanted. With all the effort he could muster he pushed him self up, so he was sitting on top of France, his legs kneeling either side of France’s crossed legs. 

His vision was returning, and now all he could see was a beautiful bearded blonde man looking up at him. England tenderly brushed back France’s hair from his face. “I wanted to watch you.” Then he sunk back down in a moan of ecstasy. 

France ran his fingers up England’s spine, he watched the man shiver. “You are so beautiful.” Whispered France, realising he said it out loud blushed. But England silenced his embarrassment with a hard kiss. He was riding France harder now, France was jerking his hips up to meet each down fall. England had found his own prostate and was abusing it. 

England started shaking, France knew he was close. England dragged his nails down France’s back leaving harsh read lines. He was trying to hold it off a bit longer. He whispered in to the corner of France’s mouth. “I’m going to cum.” His face nuzzled against the pickle of France’s beard like an affectionate cat before finding comfort in the crook of his neck.

He bit in to France’s soft spot; he bit his hard. His muffled screams vibrating off the tender flesh. England went rigid then limp, France held him close to keep him in place. The combination of the bite and the filthy sound of England’s orgasm sent France over the edge. Three more thrusts and England’s clenched rings shocked France in to a blinding orgasm. He was vaguely aware that England was riding him slowly through it, milking every drop out of him.

France’s muscles finally gave out and they fell backwards on to the pillows. England had pulled France in to his chest, stroking his hair. France closed his eyes let the soothing touch ease him back from his bliss. He realised he was still inside England. He went to remove himself but England stopped him.

“No, don’t. Not yet. I just want to stay like this for a bit longer.”

France looked up in to clear green eyes. France was taken back, something about England seemed so much younger. 

France gave him a sad smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
